“Alright, now what?” I have a few options, I can either head back to Bella Vista’s and find my lighter, I can head home and reconnect with family, or I can wander off and face this new apocalyptic world head on.

Option one would bring me immediate access to a weapon. I could very likely find a lighter somewhere else, but I have a bit of an attachment to that one, and while Varitas magic is powerful and useful, the only elemental I know is Gishban and if I call on them too often they could turn on me. Elementals are ancient and powerful, and they don’t like getting involved in mortal affairs. They’re happy to help those who follow the rituals, but one sacrifice only goes so far.

I should have renewed my sacrifice last night before going out. Bah!

Something dawns on me and I turn, looking up the street toward the burning car. There’s fire, which means Gishban is near. I could perform the ritual now and offer a new sacrifice!

Except – no, I don’t have any journals or other offerings with me.

That brings me to option two; head home and connect with family. This is the scariest option as there is the very real possibility that my mother is dead, a zombie, or worse; still alive. I haven’t seen her since my last court date and I don’t know what I would say. What if I show up and she still hates me? What if I show up and she… hugs me? Apocalypses do weird stuff to people – I would know, I lived through the Y2K apocalypse, the Mayan Calendar apocalypse, and the death of Mister Rogers, to name a few.

Option three; run away. This is a strong contender since running away is usually how I deal with normal problems. I can face vampires, zombies, and whatever other monsters this world can throw at me, but give me any sort of responsibility like a job, social obligations, or commitments, and I’ll sprint in the opposite direction faster than you can say “Sister Susie Siting on a Thistle.” It’s as if my courage and determination vanish into thin air when faced with the mundane challenges of everyday life. Perhaps I’m drawn to the thrill of the unknown, finding comfort in the chaos of battling mythical creatures rather than navigating the complexities of human existence. So, option three—running away—beckons me like a siren’s call, promising freedom from the burdens of responsibility and the chance to embrace a life less ordinary. 

“Gruhhh,” the dude-bro zombie bumps into me, leaning his head over my shoulder and groaning into my ear.

“No,” I turn and gently push him back. “Don’t try to talk me out of it, I am a free spirit, I must run.”

“Bahhhgggrrrrrrrr,” dudebro gargles. I sigh and shake my head.

“Yeah, that’s a good point. I do enjoy vengeance.”

“Fruuu.” I’m not sure if that last comment was a plea, or a burp, but either way, his point is clear. I have unfinished business here. I can run from my obligations, but I can’t run from justice; and justice has not yet been served.

“Alright, alright,” I throw my hands up and turn my back to dude bro. “Fine, you win. I’ll go slaughter a nest of vampires before I run away.”

“Gehhr.”

“Yes, fine, jeeze, I’ll check on the family too.”

With the sigh of a heavy burden, I begrudgingly leave Dude Bro behind and start walking in the direction of the police station.

———-

I never thought Cedarwood was a particularly nice town but seeing it now, covered in literal trash fires, collapsing buildings, and littered with what I would imagine is a dump’s worth of garbage, makes my memory of the city seem like a rose-tinted dream. There are a lot more dead bodies around, as well. Some of them lay there like dead bodies are supposed to, while others seem to be struggling to get up like they just had a really fun night in vegas. A few bodies are being fed upon, which makes me think they’re more fresh than some of the others that are being left alone.

“How long was I out of it?”

It feels like not even a full day has passed since my fight with the blood suckers, but I can’t believe that all this destruction and chaos could have happened in just a few hours. Unless; maybe there was a bomb? Are we at war? How long does it take for a society to collapse after an apocalyptic event? Is this localized? National? World wide? Are the stores still open? What are the laws for paying employees during an apocalypse? 

A thunderous explosion of sound stops me in my tracks. I recognize the sound of gunfire almost immediately, but the echo and distance make it difficult to pinpoint. It’s followed a moment later by another explosion of sound as several shots are fired in quick succession. I can’t be certain, but I think they’re coming from ahead of me, in the direction of the police station.

“That’s probably not a good sign.”

If there are people at the police station then getting my stuff back is going to be a bit more difficult. I’m not sure why I just assumed I would walk in there, grab my stuff and leave, as if there would be nobody there. Well, I mean, I guess when you wake up to an apocalypse and your only company is a bunch of zombies, then maybe it’s safe to assume there would be no people at the station. But then again, there are always people at the police station in every zombie film so it just makes sense.

The station is completely surrounded by zombies; just a hundred, at least, all swarming at the front door.

“Damn Black Friday Sales,” I round the corner and start walking toward the station. I could run, but let’s face it, there’s no way there are any new Playstations left by the time I get in there.

A few loud explosive pops confirm my belief that the gunfire was from the station, as someone fires through a window and a few of the zeds closer to the door drop. As I get closer I can pick up screaming and yelling from multiple sources; several people have holed up inside, and judging by the yells to ‘bar the fucking door already’, I’m guessing they arrived here just shortly before I did.

“There’s someone out there!” I hear someone scream from the left. There’s someone with a shotgun peaking through a boarded up window. The gunfire stops briefly and I hear someone yell from the right side.

“What the fuck are you doing out there? Run!”

I stop and look around, searching for something threatening. There’s the zombie horde in front of me, and nothing but empty streets behind me.

“Run from what?” I call back.

“Are you a fucking idiot?!” The man reaches through the window and fires a few rounds into the zombies. “How about the giant fucking zombie horde? Run, you fucking idiot!”

With a roll of my eyes I continue forward and near the crowd.

“Why would I run? These things are harmless. Is the door open? Can I get inside?”

“Fuck no!” Someone else yells.

“Get the fuck ou-” I hear the gunfire and screaming all stop as I squeeze between two zombies and begin to weave my way through the horde. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah, I get it, there are a lot of them,” I get closer to the window and can tell there’s a middle-aged man behind the boards. He seems completely dumbstruck. “But, they’re harmless. I’ve been walking around all day and they haven-” it’s my turn to go silent as he levels the gun at me and fires. His aim is off by just a smidgen and the bullet only grazes my neck. I drop, pivot, and duck into the crowd.

“Vampire!” The shooter screams.

Vampire?!

“Vampire?!” I yell.

Why the fuck do they think I’m a vampire?

Vampires have kept their existence hidden since the days of Christ, feeding in the shadows with the rest of the supernatural critters no one thinks are real. I weave my way through the legs of the horde, keeping my head down and distancing myself from the shooters.

“I’m not a vampire!” I yell. “I hunt vampires!”

“Bullshit! Why aren’t they attacking you then?”

“Because, they’re actually kind of cool dudes once you give them a chance!”

No sooner do I say that then I hear a scream of terror from the left. The gunner who first noticed me has his arm caught in the teeth of a zombie. He manages to angle the gun and pop off its head but not before a second gets a grip on his wrist. He screams as a second and third set of teeth dig into his flesh, pulling him against the boards, trying to rip his arm off or pull him through the window. There’s scrambling inside and with one shot the man’s screams go silent and the body goes limp behind the boarded window as the zeds feed on whatever they can reach.

“Okay, that looks pretty bad,” I get back behind the horde, back to a safe distance. “But, like, you can’t blame all of them for a few bad apples, right?!” I’m pretty sure I heard that in the news somewhere. A bullet wizzes past my head and I duck out of sight behind a building.

———-

“Alright, so that sucks.”

I follow the sidewalk around the building, turn down an alley and cross the block, emerging somewhere near the back end of the police station. If I know my police stations, and I certainly don’t, there has to be a back door or service tunnel or something that I can use to break inside and steal back my stuff. I’m not going to let a few necrophobic maniacs stop me justifiable quest for vengeance.

As expected there is a side entrance to the police station. It didn’t require much to find it, I just had to cut down an alley between the station and the bank next door and there was a clearly marked door reading ‘cedarwood police department’. Not only is it not locked, but its already open and waiting for me to slip through. I thank the corpse laying in the doorway, keeping it from closing all the way, and duck into the dimly lit corridor of the station.

My last visit to the cedarwood police station wasn’t exactly a pleasant one, and I haven’t visited here since then, but I do remember seeing the evidence room on my way to the back room where I was… interviewed. If I can get my bearings, I can find my way there.

“Fucking mother fucking fuckers are breaking through the fucking door!” Someone down the corridor directly ahead of me fires several times while screaming uncreatively. 

“They’re pulling down the boards by Bryan!” 

This is good, as long as the occupants of the station remain focused on the peaceful protestors outside, I should be able to sneak in, get my stuff, and get back out. I have a few doors to choose from down the hallway, and I am very thankful the architects clearly labeled them all; Training, IT, Break Room.

None of those seem to ring any bells, so I must be in the complete opposite side of the building from where I’ve been. 

With gunfire and screaming covering the sounds of my steps I don’t try too hard to be stealthy. I head down the hallway, reading door signs along the way until I can see the group of squatters in the lobby. I can see three of them, but I know there are at least two others, not counting the guy from earlier who had been bitten. I can see him too, currently half pulled through a hole in the boarded window, leaving him hanging from the waist down like an awkward Pin The Tail on the Scrappy Survivor. 

Whatever sounds I make might be covered, but I’m not invisible, so I stay close to the wall as I get nearer. The lobby does look familiar and I’m starting to build a mental map from what I can see. They brought me in through the lobby and right past the Admin offices. Past office was the armory, with the evidence locker just past that.

I inch along the wall until I’m at the corner and peak out into the lobby. I watch for a moment as the chaos unfolds. The survivors are frantic, running back and forth across the lobby to impede the undead as they try to break in. I see another of their members lying dead in a corner with a fresh bullet wound in their head. They are all yelling over each other, their voices blending into a cacophony of urgent shouts and muffled orders, each trying to assert their presence over the others. A symphony of desperation, a discordant melody of survival.

“Discordant melody of survival?” I crinkle my nose, shaking my head in disgust as if someone had just crop dusted me with farts. “When did I become a poet?”

Oh no, did The Institute successfully infiltrate my brain?!

The evidence room is just around the corner, away from the lobby and a few doors down, so I push off the wall and start walking. I don’t bother being stealthy about it considering the chaos behind me; they’re all much too distracted with their own shit right now to be bothered wi-

“I’m out of shells!” Some guy screams. “Where’s the armory?”

“Next to the evidence room!” Someone responds.

Well, shit.

I quickly duck out of the hallway and into the first door at my left, pushing it open, slipping in, and closing it quietly behind me. I immediately regret my choice, as the walls lined with rifles and shotguns, and the shelves full of boxes of ammo, inform me that I have slipped right into the armory.

Well, shit.

I can hear footsteps outside, jogging briskly in my direction and I quickly search for someplace to hide. Then, just as quickly, I realize there isn’t anyplace to hide. The room is only a few feet wide, with shelves and racks on either side, and no nooks or crannies to duck into. There aren’t even cabinets I can squeeze into.

Well, shit.

I do the only logical thing, and step behind the door.

The door bursts open and I am thankful for the noise of the lobby to drown out my muffled yelp as it smacks my right in the face. An old man, the one who was yelling at me earlier, rushes straight past me and begins rummaging through boxes. I catch the door as it begins to close and slip around it while his back is turned. I’m half way out the door when I catch a whiff of something sweet and tempting on the air. The sensation of it hits me so hard I freeze in place and can’t help but turn and face the man. He’s struggling with finding the right box, throwing several to the floor as he searches for the ones that fit his shotgun.

My nostrils flare as I inhale the scent; it’s not sweet, or even particularly appealing. It’s kind of musky, but it’s hitting something in my brain that’s drawn to it. As I stare at the man, oblivious to my presence, a rushing begins to fill my ears. It’s not the high pitched whine I heard when I first woke up, but a powerful rushing like a river through a canyon. It starts quiet and distant and grows in intensity, then starts to break into a rhythmic pattern.

It takes me a few seconds but I realize I’m hearing a heart beat. The beat is fast and in a panic. Since my heart isn’t beating that hard, I have to assume I’m listening to his heart.

Something sharp in my mouth pricks my tongue and draws me out of whatever trance I was stuck in. I prod at it with my tongue and realize that my canines have extended.

“Fuck,” I mutter, and freeze in a panic. The man finds his box, throws it open and starts reloading. He didn’t hear me.

Fuck! I have fangs!

Now fully loaded, the man stuffs his pockets full of shells and turns. I duck back and to the side, managing to get just outside the door and around the frame as he bursts out, inches from me, and turns away heading back to the lobby. I can see the veins in his neck, throbbing with life. 

My stomach growls.

Nope!

“Nope, nope, nope,” I turn my back to the lobby and take the last few steps down the hall to the door I’ve been seeking; Evidence. 

“Nope, nope, nope,” I push the door open and step inside. The door closes and seals me away, replacing the sounds of the lobby with a muffled solitude; leaving me alone to process what the fuck I was just thinking. I collapse against the door and slide to the floor.

“What is going on with me?” I wake up with a case of involuntary cannibalism, walk through the undead unnoticed by them, and now just fought off the urge to kill some strange angry man in the kinkiest way possible; neck nibbles.

“Fuck.” My fist finds the floor and much to my surprise, cracks the tile.

Or, maybe that crack was already there? Fuck, there is so much going on right now.

I don’t have time to figure out why I’m Draculating right now, I need to find my stuff.